<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Cafes, Bistros, and Museums by shaniacbergara</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23698789">Cafes, Bistros, and Museums</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaniacbergara/pseuds/shaniacbergara'>shaniacbergara</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Coffee, Wine, and Textbooks-Verse [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Professors, M/M, Summer, Vacation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:28:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,416</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23698789</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaniacbergara/pseuds/shaniacbergara</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What can I say? I'm lazy and I haven't written in forever. Anyway, yesterday my gf pointed out that they followed me first for my writing, so I'm writing. Yknow, because I'm a sap. Anyway more to come, I actually properly promise.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Coffee, Wine, and Textbooks-Verse [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1490870</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>100</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Restless</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_boleyn_treatment/gifts">senseofenterprise (the_boleyn_treatment)</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley was restless. Crowley had always been restless. Sure, he’d been in love with the same man for a decade. Sure, he’d maintained the same job for all that time. Sure, he’d lived in the same flat, until quite recently. He went to the same shul, the same restaurants, the same pubs the same shops. But still, he was restless. He liked to take trips, he liked to explore, he liked to see new things. It’s why he’d gone to Rome the one summer, and why, with a new summer approaching, he had a new idea. Summers were full of possibilities, after all, and he was fairly certain that if Aziraphale had his druthers he’d spend the whole summer hiding away in his office again. Well, it was a lucky thing Crowley was around, wasn’t it?</p><p>“Good morning, darling.” Aziraphale’s voice startled him out of his reverie, and he opened his eyes, grumbling as he shifted into a seated position. Aziraphale, as always, was holding their steaming mugs. </p><p>“Love you, angel.” Crowley replied, voice still groggy with sleep. He accepted the coffee mug, and planted a kiss directly onto Aziraphale’s cheek in hearty thanks. Aziraphale, bless him, blushed. Crowley couldn’t get tired of it. Crowley blushed at the drop of a hat, but Aziraphale blushed at the strangest moments. Crowley had a distinct memory of his lips being somewhere a lot more private than Aziraphale’s cheek the previous evening, and yet a kiss to the cheek made him blush that morning. </p><p>Crowley must have given something away with his grin, because Aziraphale took the coffee back out of his hand and got right up close to him. He sucked in a breath, and began peppering Crowley’s face with kisses, all rapid fire, whispering “good morning” and “I love you” and “so gorgeous” in between. Crowley didn’t giggle. He didn’t. He’d like it on the record that he did not giggle. But maybe he let out some sort of giddy, high pitched laugh, which satisfied Aziraphale enough that he returned Crowley’s coffee to him.</p><p>The summer had just begun, and it was just starting to get a little warmer outside. The window was open, letting the most wonderful soft breeze float through their bedroom. Crowley sighed. He loved the summer. He loved the winter. He loved the spring and the autumn. Whatever season was coming up was his absolute favorite, but he had time in summer, and he was planning on using it well. </p><p>They spent the morning in bed, as usual, sipping coffee, planning their week. Mondays, too, were rife with possibilities. </p><p>“I might slip down to the shops a bit later today.” Crowley mentioned, a plan already forming in his mind. “Maybe I could cook something tonight.”</p><p>“I thought we were going to that sushi place around the corner?” Aziraphale countered, a line forming between his brows. </p><p>“Let’s do that this weekend, I have an urge to cook.” Crowley often got these urges, and Aziraphale couldn’t complain. Crowley was an excellent cook.</p><p>“Well, I’ll come with you.” Damn. He should have known that would be an issue. Aziraphale’s sweetness couldn’t be matched. </p><p>“What if I want it to be a surprise?”</p><p>“A surprise?” Aziraphale looked taken aback. “It’s not my birthday.”</p><p>“Don’t you think I know when your birthday is?” Crowley’s eyebrows had very nearly disappeared into his hairline. “I just, oh c’mon let me be romantic.”</p><p>“My dear boy,” Aziraphale’s lips found the thrumming pulse point in Crowley’s neck and Crowley did not whine. He’d like it on record that he did not whine. “I think you’re plenty romantic.”</p><p>“Please, angel?” He requested, a last ditch resort, but knowing Aziraphale’s weaknesses well enough to know he was close to a victory. Aziraphale nipped at him before leaning back.</p><p>Aziraphale liked to be spoiled. He’d always liked to be spoiled. He liked the finer things in life and he prided himself on being able to collect them wherever they may be. Hence his collection of books, his collection of clothing, and, well, Dr. Anthony J Crowley, of course. So how could he refuse such a temptation?</p><p>“Of course, darling.” He replied, before promptly returning to peppering Crowley with kisses.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Market</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Crowley goes to the market.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley liked going to the market. Aziraphale’s tiny cottage was in an even tinier village which had the most wonderful market. Crowley had made himself a fixture there almost immediately. Once he’d moved in with Aziraphale, once the realization had set in that yes, yes, this is forever, he means forever, not the kind of forever that’s frail and breakable but a comfortable forever that he's welcome to live in, he’d insisted on joining Aziraphale when he did his weekly shops. Most of the cashiers and stockers gave Aziraphale a wave or a smile, it was a small town, after all, and looked a bit aghast at Crowley as he strolled easily beside him. He supposed it must have been a shock to them, to determine Aziraphale’s romantic taste.</p><p>Now, though, Crowley was a regular just like everyone else in town, and his smile earned him acceptance and even a few fans. On this particular early afternoon, he got plenty of smiles upon entering the market. </p><p>Crowley liked to have fun at the market, he liked to take his time, he liked to go through every aisle, even ones he didn’t necessarily need anything in, just to see what looked interesting. He happened to be on a mission, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t ease his way through it. Crowley was all ease when it came to groceries.</p><p>A baguette, that was certain. He waved to Milly, one of the in-house bakers, as he chose one, and she waved back, cheeks dusted with flour. A cliche, maybe, but one that still had some merit to it. He grabbed some potatoes, while he was at it, plenty of onions, some garlic, of course. He needed something that he could reasonably substitute for bacon, and grabbed some porcinis, that would do, especially with all of the cheese that would be set to go in there.</p><p>Suddenly, he was brought up short. Sure, he could do something cheesy, something beautiful and garlicy and creamy and delicious, but where would that leave him on the main course? Kashrut was hard, and Aziraphale had been trying his damndest to get it right. This was far more comfortable for Crowley than it was for him, and he’d like to make it as gentle as possible. Not boeuf bourguignon, then. Something else, something simpler, something rustic. </p><p>It came to him in a flash, and he glanced up at the heavens, hoping against hope that Aziraphale’s aversion to animated films included Pixar movies. </p><p>A baguette peeking its tip over the top of his canvas tote-his insistence, not Aziraphale’s-and two bottles of wine and a bottle of rum under his arm, he set off back to the house. Their house, Crowley still got chills even thinking of it.</p><p>Aziraphale, was in his study when Crowley arrived, and the brightness of an early afternoon was just settling in to the peace and shade of early evening. </p><p>“Oh! There you are, dear, thank goodness.” Aziraphale said, who had bustled into the kitchen upon hearing the door open. </p><p>“Thank goodness?” Crowley asked, a smile already on his face. Aziraphale took the tote off of his shoulder, set it gently on the counter, and left Crowley to extract the bottles from under his arm. He kissed him, gently, sweetly, the kind of “welcome home” and “you’ve only been gone an hour or so but heavens how I’ve missed you” and “I’m delighted to see you” kiss that Crowley had only dreamed of until quite recently.</p><p>“Thank goodness.” Aziraphale repeated, and Crowley grinned, hardly daring to believe his luck. He kissed Aziraphale’s curls, before turning to wash his hands at the kitchen sink. “You’re starting now, then?” Aziraphale wondered, and Crowley craned his neck to look at him.</p><p>“Do you mind?” </p><p>“Not at all, my dear boy.” Aziraphale paused. “Only, would you mind if I stuck around in here?” Crowley balked.</p><p>“You hate watching me cook.”</p><p>“I love watching you cook, Anthony, but the chaos you bring into our kitchen deserves another pair of eyes.” Crowley laughed out loud, and Aziraphale huffed. “There’s no need for-”</p><p>“Of course you can stay, angel.” Crowley was already tying on a ridiculous flowered apron, another inheritance from his mother. “Go get your book, I promise, all chaos will remain controlled until you return.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I wrote this for my most incredible gf, who has been working tirelessly at their finals over the last couple weeks, and who completed writing their last one this morning at around 3 am. They deserve endless incredulity, relaxation, and cheers, but it's 5:45 am, so all I have are Aziraphale and Crowley to give them right now. Don't worry, excessive cheers will be given when they wake up.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>